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
- 3
- 4
A/N: Hello all. I am alive still. My not-so-new-now job has kept me insane since my last update. I just can't find the time to write these days. But here is the new chapter and I hope you like it. Thanks to Delia for commenting even with my absence. I appreciate it and it did give me that spur of inspiration to get it finished. Thanks to everyone else too! R and R loves. Next chapter will have some nice Harry/Snape interaction. Looking forward to it!

*****

Chapter Four: I've Learned to Love Abuse

The halls were desolate most of the evening, finding Harry passing just a few stragglers over the many hours he spent navigating their long, labyrinthine passages before curfew forced him to seek out the Commons. He used the uninterrupted time to built the truth of his circumstances up in his own mind, choosing the best way to lay it all out for his friends, to make it seem less heinous. But when he finally let himself arrive at the portrait hole, he hesitated, imagining a room full of people behind the closed door, prodding questions teeter on their pursed lips, and a hundred eager ears listening expectantly for the dropping of a long-held needle.
Suddenly the truth seemed as bad an idea as the first lie that slipped past his tongue had felt. Should he really tell them what formed in his mind; that they would do well to stay far away from his twisted soul?
Dare he reveal the truth? Say they are fools for trusting? Forgiving? Believing in a hero's purity?
No. Harry put his back to the fat lady and began to leave just short of a run. How could he tell them anything but the lies they waited so eagerly to hear?
And since when had the place he loved the most become more like a prison to him than his home? When had he given up fighting that change? When had he lost the once undying faith that Ron and Hermione would always, always be there...no matter what?
Just because he was different now didn't mean everything else had to be. His friends would love him still. Wouldn't they? They'd had their differences before. They had always come out on top. Who's to say they wouldn't stay together this time too?
But, no. Harry just couldn't be certain. Not this time anyway.
He stopped at the second story balcony hallway overlooking a stone courtyard and took a deep, piercing breath. The autumn weather had been mild so far and the starry night sky was clear and calm; the opposite of how he felt inside. His eyes drifted aimlessly about, passing uninterested over the empty school grounds, following along the stationary shadows cast by a brilliant yellow moon, which barely brushed the tips of the Forbidden Forest with its orb. Off in the far distance, nothing but pinpricks on the horizon, the warm lights of Hogsmead burned bright and inviting.
Harry shifted. Two nights ago in the infirmary he had fully intended on seeking refuge there, only to be thwarted from the attempt to run away from his problems. But now, as he gazed out over the stone balustrade, he realized there was nothing standing in his way this time. He could see the lonely dirt trail leading away. He could see the unguarded gate and tiny carriages with their skeletal horses. His escape lay at his fingertips if he still wished for it.
It wouldn't take much to run.
But, on the other hand...
A tall, dark silhouette approached the dirt path from the covered bridge, carrying a large sack, bulging with strange, illuminated lumps and Harry had a pretty good idea who the figure was, despite the absence of a billowing cape. He watch him moving closer, an honest contemplation of the man warring on his thoughts. He hated to admit it, but he had a growing mix of feelings that refused to bow down and die.
In his sleep he relived the accident as if looking through rippled water, unable to make sense of what he witnessed through blurry eyes. Awake, he unwittingly sought out bandaged hands in the too few instances that they would cross paths, and during those very brief meetings, an inexplicable concern began to build inside him. Against his will, Snape had become an undeniable curiosity his body was all-to-well-inclined to indulge in. Harry had long since decided he would overlook the touches he may well have imagined, but it only seemed to beg the question of why he'd imagined them in the first place. If he left now, he would never have the chance to figure that out.
Besides. Why not Severus Snape? He'd proven to be a better man than most. If there was ever a soul who could understand his faults, surely it would be someone like him. Maybe instead of squashing this peculiar crush like he'd first planed, he should let it grow? But Harry's stubborn thoughts protested still. Did he truly want Snape, or was it all just a figment of his unconscious mind, brought on by the injuries he suffered that day?
He laid his chin on crossed arms, resting down on the balustrade of the railing to watch his Professor. There was only one way to find out what he wanted- and it did not come from taking the easy road to Hogsmead, but in sifting through a torturous convolution of truth and lies.
Before long Snape had made it to the courtyard below. His heels scraped sharply against the stone as he walked around the far side to avoid the center fountain. A small, paper lantern floated beside him, bobbing softly in time with his steady gait. It cast hard shadows over his form, lending him a more menacing air that usual.
Shivers ran down Harry's spine at the thought of what the man could do to him, of what he would let him do, in every pitch black corner of the dungeons he called home. It disturbed him to know how much he wanted it too.
Breathing out a half sigh that stuck in his throat, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the melody of Snape's steps, of the faint hum that emanated from the bag he carried, and the gentle thrum of magic that followed.
A short moment later, when he opened his eyes again, Snape's indifferent gaze met and held his. The Professor's cold stare pierced him, even as he gave a curt incline of his head.
Merlin help him. Harry blushed like a catholic school girl caught on a Sunday with her skirt up. Unable to form any sort of coherent reply, he tucked his face into the bend of his arm and blinked meekly in return.
Snape readjusted the sack's straps over his shoulder and continued on without looking back.
When he was no longer within sight, Harry buried his face completely within his robes and groaned.
The easy road would have to wait.
*****
Harry kept his focus on the toes of their shoes and the rug beneath their feet. The pattern made his head hurt. Or maybe it was the unavoidable conversation to come. Either way, it didn't matter, because, like he'd imagined, the Commons was packed and no one bothered to at least pretend they weren't hanging on his every word. And in the wake of all that burning attention he knew already the words that would vomit their way out of his mouth in place of what he'd practiced. Somehow the other two/thirds of the golden trio- more like a pair with a third wheel, really- seemed wholly unaffected by it all. Harry did his best not to squirm under all those eyes. He knew exactly what they wanted.
Ron guided Hermione's hand up to his shoulder. Even as she squeezed the breath from him and whispered in a tear cracked voice, he couldn't bring himself to look anywhere but at that hideous pattern. Her words drifted weakly through his ears. She said they had missed him terribly; they worried when it took him so long to wake up; they wanted to visit him, but there was just so much to adjust to that they couldn't find the time. She said they loved him and everything was going to be okay. Somehow he couldn't agree, though he didn't waste his breath telling her so. It would make no difference and only fuel the whispers that slowly ceased in an unbearably quiet anticipation of his actual response.
Harry's stitched itched. His fingers longed to pluck them. It was becoming more than he could bear. Clenching his thigh in a white-knuckled grip, he stared his housemates down, glaring fiercely until each and every one of them turned awkwardly away.
How different would their faces be if they could see under this illusion?
Hermione gave his arm a light squeeze and took his hand in hers. “Don't worry about them mate,” Ron said, adding a light pat to his back. “Forget it. Let's go up to our bunks. We can talk there.”
Harry remained silent still. He didn't nod, or smile, or happily agree. He just watched the back of Ron's feet climbing the stairs behind his girlfriend's and followed without protest, aching to break something again. His mind numb to all the eyes burning the back of him now.
How could everyone be so forgiving? So clueless?
“So, uh...,” Ron said nervously, scratching the back of his head as he sat down beside Hermione.
Harry waited until a silencing spell had been cast before he replied. “I'm so sorry guys. I'm sorry for doing this to you. I'm sorry for- for everything.” Opposite of Ron, he sank down onto his own mattress and put his face in his hands, to tired to do much else. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs. He wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers of his bed forever, but he forced himself to go on because they deserved something for their suffering, some kind of answer. Even if it wasn't exactly the truth. Even if it hurt to lie. Even if he lost a little piece more of the man he'd once been...before the war.
“I don't know what happened to the potion,” he whispered blankly, dragging his hands through his hair. “I can't even remember the accident. Please, I swear I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. Forgive me.”
With every movement of his tongue and lips it became harder for Harry to speak around the lump in his throat. The tears that wet the corners of his eyes were real enough, but it gave him no solace. Weather he was crying for the friends he hurt, his shameful actions, or the soul he felt slipping farther away from him with each new lie, he couldn't say. It gave him no comfort to hear their vows of forgiveness because he knew, he knew, they shouldn't offer it. But he nodded his false relief and thanks, dutifully accepting Ron's pat on the back and Hermione's, once again, crushing hug.
Then, swallowing hard, he gently held her at arm's length to finally face the burden he'd forced upon her. He could make it his burden too.
Several thin layers of clean, white gauze wrapped her head, hiding completely the normally cheerful brilliance of her deep-brown eyes. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of it. All that praying for McGonagall's words to be a lie ended up as wasted breath after all.
Hermione was blind. He made her blind.
“You're staring aren't you?” she accused, pulling suddenly from his grasp. “Harry I told you, I'm okay. It's only temporary. Three weeks at the most and I'll be good as new.” She backed up very slowly, reaching backward for the edge of the bed. Ron rushed to help. “I'm not incompetent,” she snapped, slapping whatever of him her hands could reach, “Stop your fussing already.”
Harry's poor, red-headed friend looked like he didn't know weather to protest or pout. It might have been funny under other circumstances, but he just couldn't find it in him to see the humor there. At any rate, they seemed to be getting on well and that, at least, was something worth appreciating. There may yet be a silver lining to find within this mess.
After toeing off his shoes, Harry crawled under his sheets and tucked them up to his chin. He listened to their argument until Ron tried to shut her up with a kiss and she refused to talk to him afterward even though they went on bickering despite the threat. Warm and comfortable, and largely disgusted with himself, he closed his eyes and drifted off to an empty, unpleasant sleep.
*****
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Blackest Eyes