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Death and the Open Mind	By : LoupGarou1750 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 3186 -:- 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.

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JULY

The room that had been Regulus Black's was now, by virtue of the stacks of books and boxes rescued from Spinner's end, Snape's room. Snape's books. Snape's Pensieve. Snape's memories. All of them were now Harry's. In some deep part of himself, Harry realised he spent too much time in that room, knew it probably wasn't healthy to isolate himself. But it seemed that the more time he spent in there, the fewer nightmares he had, and the critical voice in his head was mostly silent. On balance it seemed a fair trade.

Harry sat on the floor in Snape's room, his wand dancing circles around the small vial resting in his palm. By this point, he could pick and choose. Drawing a single silvery thread from the vial was as easy as pulling one from his own head. Indeed, he had viewed them so often he could probably have extracted Snape's memories from his own temple as easily as he could from the vial.

Just then, a young and weedy looking Snape was hiding in the bushes, greedily watching Lily and Petunia on the swings. Harry smiled; it had shocked him when he first realised he didn't hate Snape anymore, that he had, in fact, grown rather fond of the gangly boy with his pathetic clothes and his fierce want. It didn't hurt, of course, to know that Snape had been on his side — or Lily's anyway — after all, nor to understand that he and the former Potions master had more in common than he'd ever realised. At nine, Harry had been equally lonely, equally a laughingstock, equally hungry for a friend of his own.

On that day, watching Lily laugh with her friend Severus, Harry had another somewhat startling revelation; he liked his mother better with Snape than he did when she was with James and Sirius. She seemed kinder, braver, somehow more worthy of love and devotion. That all Snape's memories confirmed James and Sirius as matching fuckwits came as no surprise at all. Harry had trodden that path in Snape's memories repeatedly since fifth year Occlumency lessons. Feelings of disloyalty to his father and godfather had long since faded, but this new view of Lily was disturbing and it made Harry feel guilty.

That his parents and godfather had been brave, Harry had no doubt, and their love for Harry himself was also unquestioned, but he didn't want to be like them — or Snape, for that matter — decent to those he cared about and an absolute berk to everyone else.

Pensively, Harry put the memories back in the vial and capped it. Bouncing it up and down on his palm, he thought about Ginny and his other friends. He'd have to do better.

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

Immense flames lick at the night sky, eating it up, little tongues of fire licking their lips. In the glare of the great blaze a figure can be seen dark against the illuminated tower. Flying. Or falling. He opens his mouth in a voiceless scream as smoke rises, blotting out the falling man, the fighting men. In the classroom, limned by firelight, Albus Dumbledore raises his wand and mutters, "Detention." Outside himself he can see himself walking away, a thin figure with slumped shoulders in a tattered robe .

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

After yet another night plagued by nightmares, a fierce headache was starting up behind Harry's left eyeball. Ginny's rising anger and accompanying strident voice wasn't helping at all.

"...been weeks, Harry!"

"Kreacher!" Harry bellowed, cutting right through whatever it was Ginny was saying. He'd only been half-listening anyway; it wasn't as if he hadn't heard it before. Several times.

"He's at Hog—" Ginny began, but was cut off by a loud crack as the house-elf suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

"Christ, Kreacher, look at this mess!" Harry gestured to the sink full of dirty dishes.

"Kreacher is sorry," Kreacher said, bowing so low the tips of his ears nearly scraped the floor, "but Master sent Kreacher—"

Lazy little rodent. He's not to be trusted, you know. He'd as soon stick a knife in your back as look at you.

"Whatever!" yelled Harry. "Stop banging your head on the floor and just get it cleaned up!" He turned away from the grovelling house-elf and rounded on his girlfriend. "Ginny, give it a rest. I'm still not sleeping well. I've got things on my mind. I'm sorry we haven't fucked in awhile, but I'm just not up to three, four, five times a week. It's like you've suddenly become sex crazy or something. "

"Five times a week! We haven't even done it five times in the last two months!"

Suddenly become? There was a reason she was known as the Hogwarts Whore.

"Just because you're a slut and constantly gagging for it, doesn't mean the rest of us—

"Fuck!" Harry screamed as Ginny Disapparated with an unusually loud crack. "Come back! I didn't mean it! I don't even know why I said it!"

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

The restaurant was small enough that Harry spotted Hermione and Ron immediately.

Isn't that cosy. I think I may be ill.

Their heads were tilted towards each other, a private world unto themselves. He'd hardly seen them since the end of the war. While he had been drifting away, they had obviously grown even closer. For a moment Harry felt the too familiar, sick wave of loneliness, but then Hermione looked up and smiled. Harry couldn't keep from rolling his eyes good-naturedly as she immediately waved him over, quivering with excitement like a racehorse at the starting gate.

Good lord, she's obnoxious. Completely deranged in her quest to be noticed . Hasn't changed a bit since she was eleven. I would have thought she'd have at least managed to do something about that hair.

Jarring his skull with his palm as if he could physically dislodge the thoughts, Harry muttered, "Oh Christ! Not again! Not now! Would you just shut up? Just this once." He gave a passing waiter a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Talking to myself. Er, I see my friends." He waved at them and ducked past the waiter.

"Steady on," Harry whispered to himself as he traversed the short distance to their table. "They're your friends. Smile and nod and keep your bloody mouth shut."

"Hi Harry!" By that point Hermione was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. Ron, on the other hand, was unnaturally still, a worried but defiant expression on his face.

What's he sulking about? He's the one who behaved like an arse. Or he's pissed off about his little whore of a sister.

Squeezing his forehead, trying to still the voice that weeks before ceased confining its criticisms to himself, Harry bit back the words that wanted to come tumbling out after the thought. Forcing his mouth into a sheepish smile, Harry instead said, "I can't believe I haven't seen you guys since May." The look on Ron's face was half the reason he hadn't.

Ron winced and Harry grinned at him, leaning over to give his friend a comradely punch on the shoulder. "Why are you looking at me like I'm the chopper come to chop off your head? No hard feelings. I know why you didn't go. I don't blame you." Pleased at the way the lie rolled smoothly from his tongue, and truly wanting bygones to be bygones, Harry gave Ron another big grin before hugging Hermione and then slipping into his seat. "And if you're angry about Ginny, we've made up. Again."

Ron grinned and shrugged. "You don't need to tell me, mate. I've been living with her for years. And yeah, the funeral, sorry, but what with George's ear and—"

Harry almost sagged with relief. He hadn't been relishing dealing with Ron's temper and defensiveness. "Really, no hard feelings."

"We've got news!" Hermione exclaimed, waving a hand in front of Harry's nose, drawing obvious attention to the new ring on her finger.

Fabulous. A whole new generation of redheaded brats, now with added frizzy hair. She had better never take that ring off; it's too tiny to find again.

"Hold on," said Harry, "let me get my magnifying glass."

"Harry!" Hermione said, looking hurt. She leaned against a scowling Ron.

"You're such a prick sometimes," Ron snarled. "We aren't all heir to the Black and Potter vaults."

"Oh shit! Ron, I'm so sorry. I was just taking the piss. I didn't mean it. It's a beautiful ring. Congratulations." Although he really wanted to slink to the floor under the table, Harry stood and went around to hug his friends. "That's brilliant! I'm really happy for you."

What a devious little liar you are.

"You're still a prick, but you're also best man if you want to be." For once Ron's anger seemed to fade as quickly as it flared.

"Of course I want to be! Oh shit, this means new dress robes, doesn't it? Don't let your mum pick yours."

Ron laughed, but Hermione still looked hurt. "Ginny says you've been being unbearably rude lately."

Lack of sex will apparently do that to a woman. Who knew?

"Ginny's just narked because we haven't had sex for a while," Harry blurted out and felt the tips of his ears flame.

"Er, Harry. My sister." Ron raised his eyebrows for emphasis and both Hermione and Harry laughed. Harry also breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, sorry again. Completely uncalled for, and absolutely none of your business. Look, I'm just going crawl under the table for a while. Let me know when the food arrives. You two just talk wedding plans, or something."

"Not because I want to know, because you know, my sister, but why? I thought you two were going at it like rabbits."

Because eventually latent homosexuality will out and Bill Weasley ismuch better-looking.

"You are adorable when you blush, Harry."

"Shut it, Hermione," Harry muttered, turning even redder. "And it really is none of your business, either one of you."

"'Course it isn't, but that doesn't mean you're going to get out of telling us. We told you our big secret. Which, by the way," Ron looked sternly at Harry, "is a secret. Mum'll have kittens. She thinks we're too young. She's a fine one to talk. She was pregnant with Bill at my age."

Just hearing Bill's name made Harry blush again.

"Come on, do tell us," Hermione urged. "We haven't seen you in ages. You need to catch us up, and that includes what's going on with you and Ginny."

Harry didn't know what to say. Hermione and Ron were his friends, his best friends. He'd always told them everything, and he'd intended to tell them everything tonight — his nightmares, the nagging voice in his head, the weirdness at Spinner's End, Snape's room — but if he told them, he'd have to tell them he thought he might be going mad. They were so excited to see him, and excited about their engagement, he just couldn't spoil that.

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

The chains are too tight, tighter than they need to be, tighter than they should be, tighter than they were the time before and the time before that. A sea of plum robes, stern faces reflecting derision, hatred, disappointment. In front of him, the Interrogator, back to him, her long red hair clashing with the colour of her robes.

"It was you. You who did this to me! You!"

"No!" he cries, wounded. She should know better. She does know better. "I wasn't even there!"

"You suffered and you wanted to make me suffer!" She refuses to look at him, refuses to let him see her face, refuses to acknowledge her betrayal.

"I tried to stop it! What could I have done?" He is sobbing now, blubbering into his hands. "What could I have done?"

"Guilty," comes the verdict and still she will not look at him, not even to show her triumph.

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

The instant he awoke, before his eyelids even fluttered open, panic solidified into a hard, choking stone in Harry's chest. He couldn't move! Hands pinned in a cruel grip at his sides, a heavy, confining weight on his legs. He thrashed on the bed, trying to free himself, afraid to open his eyes and see the chair, the chains, the plum-coloured robes.

"I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up, sleepyhead."

Managing, with difficulty, to draw air into his lungs, Harry opened his eyes to see Ginny's smiling face leaning over him. "Oh fuck! Let me up, just for a second. I need to catch my breath. Fuck, I'm glad it's you!"

"Who else were you expecting to find in your bed?" She laughed as she said it, but Harry could see faint suspicion in her eyes. Straightening up, she released her grip on his wrists.

"No, yeah. Another dream." He still found breathing difficult. Shaking his head to clear it, Harry gave her a halfhearted smile. He put his arms around her. "Nobody but you. Not ever. Nobody else but you." His hands stroked slowly down her back and he tried not to shudder as he felt the raised scars under his fingertips. "I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. "I don't know what else I could have done."

He thought of Bill's scars. Scars that were not his fault. Closing his eyes, Harry pulled Ginny down into a kiss. He hoped she couldn't taste guilt on his lips.

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

"Three years! How did I not know it would take three years? You'd think that's information they'd give out right from the start!"

Because you're a thoughtless idiot that always leaps before he looks?

Harry let the Ministry's letter drop from his hand, ignoring it as it fluttered to the kitchen floor. He leaned his elbows on the work top and let his head, which seemed to spend more time pressed into his hands than upright these days, assume its favourite position.

"Professor McGonagall told us, Harry. During our career advice meetings." Hermione closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as she always did when trying to remember something exactly.

"Hermione, you know I love you, right? Good, because then you'll know that I mean this in the friendliest possible way: shut the fuck up! I really don't need to hear 'I told you so' right now. And you don't need to recite what McGonagall said — if she even said anything, because I certainly don't remember her doing so — it's all in the letter. Three years, five NEWTs, nothing below Exceeds, background check, character and aptitude tests." Harry sank into a chair, his face glum. "Well, at least I should get a passing grade on the background check."

Ron snorted and punched Harry's shoulder. "Good one. Pass the background check. Heh. Cheer up, Harry. Did you read the part where they exempted us from NEWTs?"

"Not exempted, Ron," Hermione said, her hands on her hips. "You'll have to pass an equivalency exam."

"Yeah, well, it won't be the same, will it? I mean, it's bound to be easier, or they'd just make us sit for NEWTs, right, Harry?"

"Wait," Harry said, looking at Hermione suspiciously. "What do you mean 'you'll have to pass'? What about you?"

"I never said I was going to become an Auror, Harry. You and Ron just assumed."

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron, sounding hurt. "We're all supposed to be in this together."

Spare me. Aren't you a little old for the Three Musketeers routine?

"We're not the fucking Three Musketeers," Harry said irritably. "If Hermione wants to abandon us—"

"Oh honestly, you two! I am not abandoning you! I'll help you revise, of course I will, but I have other things I have to deal with. Becoming an Auror doesn't fit into my plans."

"What plans?" Ron asked, beginning to sound belligerent.

"My parents—" Hermione broke off suddenly, tears welling up in her eyes. "You've forgotten about my parents, Ron. They haven't fully recovered and I..."

Harry had stopped listening. Altering her parents' memories had seemed like a good way to protect them. Hermione really needed to get over the guilt.

Fucking Muggles.

"Hey, I'm practically a Muggle!"

"What?" Hermione and Ron asked at the same time.

"Oh, nothing," Harry said. "I just..." He waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Um, if training is going to take three years, we'll need more than just the two sets of robes." Bending over, Harry picked up the letter he'd dropped and looked at it. "What else? A spare wand. Books. A Potions kit." He groaned. "It's just like starting Hogwarts all over again."

§ § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § § §

As much as he loved the Weasleys and thought of them as family, Harry really hadn't wanted to spend his birthday at the Burrow. He had been spending the day as he wanted to spend it, in Snape's room with Snape's memories of Lily, daydreaming about spending his birthday with his mother, when Ginny had dragged him off.

"You are not spending your birthday in here. I swear, Harry, you're starting to worry me. This obsession with Snape's memories is not natural."

"I'm not obsessed with his memories," Harry sighed. "It's my mum, Ginny. It's all I have of her, Snape's memories and those photographs." He pointed to the photo album Hagrid had given him years before, the photo album that he'd kept in Snape's room for the last month. "I was just thinking, imagining, you know, what it would be like to spend my birthday with her," he said wistfully.

Kneeling behind Harry where he sat on the floor, Ginny wrapped her arms around him. "Come with me to the Burrow. Mum's cooking all your favourites. My mum and dad knew yours, maybe they can tell you some stories about your parents to add to your collection. Please, Harry? I can't bear to think of you spending your birthday alone."

You'd think it was her birthday, selfish little bitch.

Harry jumped. That particular voice in his head was usually silent when he was in Snape's room; it was part of the reason he spent so much time there.

Not knowing how to explain further, Harry had given in and gone to the Burrow. He tried very hard to not resent it.

Somehow, inexplicably, it was made worse because it wasn't just Ginny and her parents. Practically the entire Weasley clan was there, only Charlie missing, and of course, Fred. Harry had forgotten how annoying Percy could be, and he'd never really realised how much he disliked Fleur. He'd always thought Ginny was unreasonable on the subject of her sister-in-law, but Harry was beginning to come around to her point of view.

The way she bills and coos over Bill, the way she hangs off him is revolting. She's like some species of bizarre French parasite.

Laughing, Harry bent his head to whisper the thought into Ron's ear, but pulled back just in time as he remembered that Ron was nearly as stupid on the subject of Fleur as Bill.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked.

"Nothing. Rude thought. Doesn't bear repeating."

"C'mon, give over."

At that moment, Arthur stood up from the table, signalling the end of dinner and sparing Harry trying to come up with something. "Harry, I have a little something out in the shed I think you'd like to see."

More Muggle crap, no doubt.

"More Muggle crap?" Harry asked, then clapped his hand over his mouth. "I'm so sorry, Mr Weasley, that's not what I meant at all."

Percy and George smiled, but Bill, Ron and Ginny glared daggers at Harry. Arthur himself merely smiled. "I daresay it is as you say, crap, I don't even know if it works or what it's supposed to do. I thought you might help me out, but never mind. We can look at it some other time. I think Molly would rather you open your presents now, anyway."

"What is the matter with you?" Ginny whispered angrily as she pushed her chair back from the table. "You hurt Dad's feelings."

"I don't know," Harry whispered back miserably. "It just came out." He wished he was back in Snape's room where the voice in his head was usually silent.

Everybody gathered around the fireplace in the sitting room. Molly smiled brightly at Harry. "Cheer up, dear. Arthur is a little single-minded about his collection. It does him good to be reminded that not everyone shares his interests."

Harry knew that was supposed to make him feel better, but it only made him feel worse.

"Now," Molly said, clapping her hands together, "we have presents for Harry, of course, but because having you all here makes it almost seem like Christmas, and because what with Harry and Ron's training, and Bill and Fleur spending Christmas with her family—" Here Molly paused and gave her oldest son a sad little smile. "Yes, well, since we won't have you all home for Christmas, I have a little gift for everyone now." She waved her wand and wrapped packages tumbled through the air. A small pile landed in Harry's lap and everybody else got one.

"Aw, Mum, you shouldn't have," George said. "I mean, you really shouldn't have."

Harry felt the package that was like everyone else's and groaned — a sweater. A thought passed through his mind and out his mouth before he even registered it. "Fred probably died just so he didn't have to wear one of these ever again."

All the blood that had just drained out of everyone else's faces flooded Harry's. He didn't even try to explain or apologise. No apology could make up for what he'd just done. He was only vaguely aware of Arthur and Ginny leading a sobbing Molly from the room. He felt dizzy and the room seemed to flicker out of focus. He blinked, opening his eyes to see Ron towering over him, fists clenched.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry tensed, waiting for the blow. Ron was going to beat him bloody and Harry wasn't even going to try to stop him. He wanted Ron to hit him.

It's one thing to take your punishment like a man, it's entirely another to be stupid. Don't tense up. Keep you muscles relaxed, your limbs loose. It will hurt less that way.

For a moment, Ron just glared at him, swaying a little, fists raised in front of his chest like a boxer. Harry began to think maybe he wasn't going to be struck after all, but just in case, he forced his muscles to relax. In the end, he wasn't sure it helped at all. Ron suddenly lashed out, catching Harry on the edge of his jaw, snapping his head back, nearly breaking his neck. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt, like nothing should ever hurt.

You truly are an idiot. Cruciatus is far worse.

Nodding, gingerly rubbing his jaw, Harry said, "They ought to classify your fists as Unforgivables. Are you satisfied?"

"NO! You fucking wanker! What in hell is the matter with you? You don't speak to my mother that way! I should pound you into the fucking ground!"

He might have done it too, if Bill and George hadn't grabbed his arms.

"Get out, Harry," Bill said through clenched teeth, "before George and I decide to give you more of the same."

"I'm sorry!" Harry yelled. "I didn't mean it! I don't know why I said it! Please, let me talk to her. I wouldn't hurt your mum for the world!"

"Right," Bill said. "Get out!"

"NO! You've got to... Look, I've been...something strange is happening to me! You know me! You know I would never say something like that if I were in my right mind!" It was horrible to say it, horrible to admit it to them, to himself, but Harry realised it was true; he was going mad, he needed help.

"Fuck you, Potter!" Ron roared. "You're not mental, you're just a self-centred prick with a head three sizes too large! You've always been like this! Well, I'm not falling for it again! You apologise and it means nothing! Get out of our house, leave my family alone! We want nothing to do with you anymore!"

"Ron, no!" Hermione cried, trying to calm her boyfriend down with a hand on his shoulder. "You don't mean it!"

"I do mean it!" With a great heave of his shoulders, Ron dislodged her hand and nearly freed himself from Bill and George.

"That's enough!" Arthur sounded like Harry had never heard him before, his words cutting through the yelling like a sword. He turned to Harry, his face grim and sad. "Harry, Molly would like to speak with you. I'm not in favour of it myself, but she insists. I never thought a son of mine — and yes, we do think of you as a son — would ever...I've a mind to turn you over my knee."

"Mr Weasley, I—"

Arthur turned away. "I'm sure you are, Harry. Now go to her. She's very hurt."

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Death and the Open Mind