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Harry in the Night	By : Schwertlilie Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 3416 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Sometimes I awake in the night, gasping for breath; frantically trying to distinguish reality from the nightmares. Sometimes I can�and sometimes I can�t. Feelings I can�t tell if they are founded or created from some silly images in my dreams, stay with me long into the waking hours. Sometimes I lay there, separating the real and the imaginary. The cooling sweat is real and the feel of blood�someone else�s blood, is not. The sheets tangled around me are real and the giant snake wrapping me in its coils are not. The boy�s snoring around me are real and the dementors and death eaters are not. Tonight is one of those nights and as I lay here panting, staring at the ceiling of Hagrid�s hut, I remind myself that the fact I am alive is real�for now.

This is not the first night I�ve seriously contemplated suicide. In fact, more am I surprised that I haven�t done it than I am that I think of it at all. I suppose the reason I haven�t is because I�ve become so tired. Too tired to live and too tired yet to die. I�ve spent my entire life scrambling at the beckoning of others. First the Dursley�s, then the supposed benevolent Dumbledore that knew sacrifices had to be made for the greater good---and though his actions were for that greater good it still remains the highway to hell is paved with good intentions. So what if I had been a casualty? So what if I had died along with countless others? I would have been mourned along with the others and had tears shed over me. But in the end those left alive ultimately basked in the glory built by all the sacrifice. Warmed themselves by the pyre of burning memories.

Some still think I should have been part of that pyre, to make it burn all that more brightly. After all, Dumbledore had. It�s this fact alone that separates him from Voldemort in my mind; his willingness to sacrifice himself when the time came. That�s what made Albus the Legend in the end and Voldemort the Coward. Where was I suppose to fit in though? I had survived. The-boy-who-lived had lived yet again and no one knew how to take it. You can only praise a person so much for existing, for merely sucking in oxygen and dispelling carbon dioxide.

Voldemort fell towards the end of my seventh year and almost a year has passed since then. People think I changed a lot after that and not entirely for the better. I stopped playing Quiddich which shocked everyone around me. Guess they all thought it was the only thing I�d ever be good for---oh yeah and that little habit of being able to survive. I stopped going near the dormitories when people were there, in fact I became what some call a recluse. Even worse than Snape I heard a few fifth years muttering in the hall as I passed by, unnoticed in the shadows. Yeah everyone worried, but assumed I was in mourning, for we�d lost many: Albus, Hagrid, Seamus, the Creevey brothers, almost half the Slytherins---Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs of varying ages, Bill, Percy, Filch, Remus, Sirius�

Did I mention the last attack was on Hogwarts? Guess I forget sometimes since the building had repaired itself, mending until nothing was left that showed there had ever been a Great War. It didn�t all happen at Hogwarts though, no. Some of the death eaters had been sent on raids while the focus was on Voldemort, creating terror that spread its tendrils everywhere. The Dursleys had been one of the places attacked and destroyed. It surprised me when I first heard what had happened. Sure, they were just ignorant Muggles�but they were the only blood link I ever had to my parents and with Sirius and Remus dead�there was no one left in my life that really knew them. Well, almost no one.

Snape had been an intricate part in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Before the attacks had even begun Snape had slipped him a potion that would cloud his awareness and slow his reaction time. The man had been working on it for nearly 9 years, devising a potion that couldn�t be detected by Voldemort�s heightened senses and would work in a way that did not immediately make itself known until it was too late. And it had worked. I�d been able to fight my way up the lines of black robes and white masks---multi colored curses flying in between it all---to finally face Voldemort in the center of the chaos. The man responsible for the death of my parents, my godfather and so many others I cared for, the man that was trying to destroy both the worlds I lived in, had taken away my only chance at a normal, healthy life that didn�t include almost constant migraines, eyes that followed me everywhere, and my name splashed before me like some sick mockery of my existence. The bastard that held every innocent thing I ever was inside him, things I could never get back.

I�d looked at him for what I knew was only an instance but felt like a hundred lifetimes, locked eyes for split seconds and watched detached as the thing---no longer a man---raised his wand to take away the last thing he could. My life.

But he�d never gotten the chance. I was almost shocked when the body in front of me had seemed to turn to green stone before exploding before my eyes.

When I had been aware of myself again the smell of blood and death had filled my nostrils, I felt the burning on my skin where it pressed to the wand I had no memory of thrusting out before me---the wood still pulsing in the aftermath of the most Unforgivable Curse. I�d pictured that moment, dreamed of it till I could taste it, but nothing had prepared me for what actually happened.

I�d imagined feeling relief, a sense of triumph, of freedom and finality. Instead I felt�nothing. It was as if I�d put every feeling coursing through me into that last curse and it had welled up before exploding out of me to destroy the thing that had been the cause of every single one of those feelings. I�d been highly aware of the irony at the moment and the insane urge to laugh had bubbled just inside my throat. Instead, the savior of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike had vomited before collapsing and giving into the rushing dark.

I awoke to the smell of sterile cloth and peppermint---plus the lovely feel of overly starched bed sheets scrapping against my aching flesh. Wonderful, I was in an infirmary, unless the afterlife was one big hospital which I had supposed was a very big possibility. It seemed one might need to be tended to after having been tossed back and forth so harshly while alive. But, when I finally opened my eyes and groaned at the searing pain all over my body I realized that in fact, no; I was still alive and feeling great.

When they figured out I was conscious again floods of people had come and gone, stuff was stuffed down my throat and I was told disjointedly the rest of what I had missed, the list of those who had died mixed in with praises and well wishes. It was a sickly sweet combination I hadn�t been able to swallow.

It seemed Voldemort had been using his bound power to aid his followers, giving them an extra strength to the vehemence in their hexes. With him gone so had the bond and in turn the good guys had won. I knew I should have felt happy about the victory, sad about the deaths or at least annoyed as fuck no one would leave me the hell alone with my pain. But through it all I felt�nothing. They said it was shock, that it was the adrenaline with extreme mental and physical stresses that left me too bone tired to do much more than breath, eat, shit and sleep. Well, Poppy hadn�t said it quite like that, but I�m not Poppy. Even then I didn�t quite believe them. They couldn�t feel the weightlessness of not having emotion, of not having so many confusing, whirl-winding thoughts flying about inside you like rampant Cornish Pixies.

I�d withdrawn into myself after being released, not having the want to see nor converse with anyone. No one really stopped me and for once I was almost glad of the pity that ruled them. Everyone was so busy anyway. Ron was grieving for his family and helping his father restore order to the Ministry while Hermoine had volunteered herself to help war orphans. We�d already taken our NEWTS and as I accepted disjointedly that I had passed high in my class I thought nothing of it, barely acknowledging the small graduation ceremony that no one seemed up to celebrating. I�d stayed at Hogwarts that summer, taking over Hagrid�s house and job. There was contentment to be found in the constant moving air compared to the stifling classrooms, the refreshing feeling of grass and digging in dirt quite delightful. I would say it almost made me giddy, except it didn�t.

After graduation I never went inside Hogwarts again. Not for meals, not to see people, not for the mourning ceremonies and especially not because I was asked. I should have felt guilty�but I didn�t. Instead I�d spent much of the time doing chores and frequenting the Forbidden Forest. It�s in fact quite breathtaking when you aren�t a first year traveling it in the dark, coming across something sucking the blood of another creature. There were so many things I saw that I couldn�t forget I eventually started bringing paper and charcoal with me to sketch things that caught my eye. Though I didn�t feel anything while I carefully explored the artistic medium, many times the pictures themselves bled emotion even I could see it.

As people began to notice where I spent most of my time they wondered out loud how I could be so carefree in a place full of danger and unknowns. The answer was that I had developed a low sense of intense situation fight or flight reaction. In essence, I had no natural fear, I simply reacted. The first time this became clear to me was six months ago in June. Hogwarts had become a make-shift shelter for those left without homes and their possessions destroyed. One afternoon there had been a picnic/tournament on the grounds, trying to bring those in such low spirits a little happiness. I had been watching the action from a lovely vantage point on the hills near the castle.

The first warnings of danger had been a flock of ravens blacking the sun in the sky---then shrieking from inside the woods had people begin jumping to their feet. At first I watched almost detached as a creature I had only read about before sprinted from the wood. Later I would identify it as a Chimaera; a monster towering at twenty feet with the head and body of a lion, goat legs and a giant poisonous serpent in place of a tail. As if its body of destruction was not enough to terrify many wizards alike, the great jets of fire that spewed forth from both gaping mouth�s of razor teeth made it one of the most horrifying creatures I�d ever seen. People were screaming and grabbing children in their haste for the castle safety. It was mainly Auroras and Hogwarts staff left, trying to corner the creature against the Quidditch stands, not able to throw direct curses past the fire breathed by both heads.

I had felt my body moving, but by no means of my making. I�d felt a spell burn from my throat before my wand was tucked away. Seconds later a thud of heavy metal weighed down my right hand while the smooth texture of wood filled my other. The next moment my body lifted into the air, supported by the weight of my broom. I�d flown straight into the melee and caught the snake head�s attention with a simple curse in Parseltongue. I dodged a streak of heat, catching the other head�s eyes, they both turned towards me perhaps to bite, perhaps to blow more fire. Then, it was as if time decided to still itself, move everything in cut frames. One frame-there stood the magnificent beast ready to set me aflame-the next great sprays of blood were arching into the clear afternoon air, soaking the ground and myself in its pulsing heat. The next-there was silence.

Silence from the creature, silence from the crowd as they watched me land, and silence in my head. When I looked down the sword in my hand was one I hadn�t held since my second year as a student of Hogwarts. The sword of Godrick Gryffindor shown my reflection through the transparent blood back to me. I hadn�t seen myself in a while and immediately noticed the gauntness in my cheeks, the tan of my skin, the blankness in my eyes, the blood streaked all over me. However I had no time to contemplate it as hordes of people surrounded me---voices, too many voices. One however stood above the others.

� Well Mr. Potter, it seems as if that infamous Gryffindor foolishness has saved the day. And how crude of you to think a sword would fare better against such a beast than twenty of the best trained Aurora�s we have to offer.� I turned to see what had once been my most hated professor standing in his customary black amongst the sea of colors. For some reason seeing the man made my stomach turn and a smile crease my face. I was actually happy. The first emotion I�d felt in months and it was happiness to see Severus Snape.

� It�s good to see you professor.� I don�t think the man could have kept the look of surprise off of his face. I hadn�t spoken to anyone since I moved down to the hut---not one word. Those coal black eyes that could turn the bravest of seventh years to stone raked down my body, taking in the observations I�d just noticed and for some reason I felt satisfaction that I�d past some test as his eyes met mine again and there was no disgust to be found.

Snape opened his mouth to say something, but it was this point someone grabbed my arm and begun pulling me away---away from those eyes---away from feelings I had almost forgotten---but I didn�t struggle. It was probably the fact my eyes stayed locked with his that I didn�t notice at first where they were taking me until I saw his eyes narrow in confusion before taking a few steps forward. My whole body tensed as my feet touched solid stone. The tugging on my arm turned insistent, but I refused to budge. I almost couldn�t believe when I heard a woman�s voice cast an immobile spell. I knew it wasn�t Poppy, she�d retired and would have never done something like this to anyone.

� Now Mr. Potter this is for your own good. The infirmary is the best place to heal and besides, you�ve been out in that hut much too long. Its not healthy for a young man. You should be out with your friends, dating a nice witch�� My heart was hammering, a scream welling in my throat, tears tracking down my cheeks but the damn bitch in front of me was still rambling. It was that cool silk voice from behind that saved me once again.

� May I ask Ms. Bodard where you are taking young Mr. Potter?� I thanked the gods as I realized we�d stopped just short of the entrance hall.

� Why Professor Snape, I was just taking my patient to the infirmary. I am after all the acting head nurse.� I couldn�t believe at the time the contempt that practically dripped from her voice. I didn�t know then the relationship between the two adults, but it was an interesting exchange. I was surprised (another emotion!) to hear the man chuckle and release the bonds holding me. My immediate reaction was to back away from the imposing stone fortress that was as much a prison to me as the Dursley�s, which caused me to run smack into the hard body of my former potions professor. A strong arm wrapped around me in what I assumed was an attempt to keep me from panicking, but my heart refused to stop beating so hard, even though I knew now Snape wouldn�t let me into that building. He understood.

� You may be the head nurse, but you are by no means capable of taking care of this particular patient, nor does it seem he wants any of your help. In that respect I do not blame him.� I knew from the fury on the woman�s face there would have been an altercation, but Mrs. McGonagall had come to the rescue.

� Ms. Bodard if you would be so kind as to come and assist those with burn wounds. I�m afraid one of the students got bit by the snake, we�ve contained the poison but she needs an anti-serum. Professor Snape, would you be willing to take Harry back to his hut and care for his wounds?�

� Of course Headmistress.� Then those eyes that twinkled like Dumbledore turned to me with what I could tell was worry and pride, saying more than she did with words.

� Thank you Harry.� With that the two woman left, leaving me alone once more with Snape.

� As I always thought, the boy wonder always receives special treatment. Too arrogant to even grace the halls that molded him into the hero�� But I hadn�t been listening to the hissing comments of the other man. While I had been battling the Chimaera I hadn�t worried about getting hurt, but when the surge of adrenaline had ebbed, a painful throb had begun to run down the length of my arm.

� Professor�� Was all I had managed before passing out completely. I�m still not sure if it had been the delirium that made me think that as I was falling to the ground my potion master�s eyes had shown panic and fear. Nor that it had been his voice that called out.

� Harry!� But all went black.
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Harry in the Night